The Many-Coloured D20
by Dragonslayer495
Summary: Based on Julian May's Saga of the Exiles, eight misfits of the psionics-based Galactic Milieu travel through a time portal into pliocene europe, only to find a D&D campaign run by a crazy DM who'll do absolutely anything to stay friends with his players. The misfits must learn to survive in a world where Elves enslave humans to explore their dungeons for them.
1. Chapter One: The Supper Before Exile

Author's Note: This story is based on The Saga of the Exiles by Julian May. I haven't played much D&D with a large group, the only times I've tried ended in a completely broken campaign filled with much too powerful players. I've also only played AD&D and some D&D Next, but I'm using 3.5e for this because of the psionics rules and the availability of the rules. Please enjoy, and leave a review if you have the time. I'll try to update at least once a fortnight but if enough people want it I will try to update weekly. Each chapter should be about 2000 words. Please say if you want more or less per chapter.

I probably don't own anything to do with this story.

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_'In the beginning the DM created the campaign. But the campaign was without form and had no theme. So Dave and the Players spoke unto the DM, "Oh great DM. I see that thou needeth a theme for thy campaign! Here is one for thee. Why doth thou not make a campaign for the Saga of the Exiles for that is a great story." And the DM thought over this and he said, "Alas, I do not like this idea for I fear the Players shall abuse the setting and ruin my campaign world, but the Players will be my friends no more if I do not do this thing for them." And lo, the DM built the campaign around the Saga of the Exiles. And he saw that it was good'-The Campaign Guide, Beginnings, Chapter 1_

Angélique Guderian hadn't had a visitor in a long time, especially now that her husband was dead, and the man at the gate with his little dog was certainly no ordinary visitor. He looked quite mad!

"Citizen Angélique Montmagny?" The man asked.

"I prefer the older form of address, but yes I am she."

"My apologies, Madame Guderian! Permit me to present myself. Richter is my name. Karl Josef Richter. I come to you with a business proposal about the invention of your late husband."

"I regret I am no longer able to demonstrate the device. In fact I will soon have it dismantled to pay off the bills."

"You must not!" Yelled Richter "You must not! I will pay highly for the chance to use it! I am a poet see, and I wish to experience the peaceful glory of the Pliocene for myself. I am fed up with this Galactic Milieu and I wish to leave it far behind me. I have my dog with me for companionship. Do not hesitate to send me there."

"Remember that my husband's creation can only transport you into the Pliocene, not back. We do not know much about what lies on the other side."

"Yes, Madame, but the flora is certainly well known, as is the climate. A prudent person like myself need fear nothing from it. Besides, I will pay handsomely for this opportunity. Certainly enough for at least the death duties for your late husband." as he said this, Richter handed a blue card to Madame Guderian. She stared at it in disbelief. A madman he certainly was, but a madman that providence had sent! Finally, she managed to get out a reply:

"Of course, Monsieur, but please have some refreshments before you go."

"I do not need refreshments, Madame. I have already eaten. I wish to leave for the Pliocene immediately."

"Of course, Monsieur, if you would kindly follow me."

Madame Guderian led Richter into the cellar in which the gazebo stood with all its cables still attached. Richter rushed towards the apparatus and could hardly contain his excitement. "At last! Quickly, Madame, quickly! Let me go through!"

"One moment, monsieur." Replied Madame Guderian as she carried Richter's books into the gazebo. "Listen to me. The moment you are translated get away from the point of your arrival or you will be transported back here as a dead man and you will crumble to dust. Do you understand?"

"I understand! Vite, vite! Let me go now!"

Madame Guderian turned on the power and instantly Richter, his dog, and all his books disappeared. She sunk to her knees and recited the angelic salutation three times, then got up and turned off the power.

The gazebo was empty. Madame Guderian let a great sigh escape her lips.

After Richter there were others, lots of them. Madame Guderian set up simple rules. Anyone wishing to travel into the Pliocene must be at least 28 years of age, not a fugitive from the law and not seriously deranged. Also, no modern weaponry or technology was allowed and any females who wanted to go through would have to give up their fertility. There were of course court cases, but with the help of powerful Lyon solicitors Madame Guderian always triumphed. By the turn of the 22nd century over ninety thousand fugitives had passed into Exile, as it was now known. In 2106 Madame Guderian left for Exile herself. The note she left behind, for she had always despised the Standard English of the Galactic Milieu, stated simply "Plus qu'il n'en faut."

The Human Polity of the Galactic Concilium, however, was not willing to accept this "more than enough" judgement. The time-portal became more efficient and more humane, and it stayed in operation. No one had any qualms about sending the time travellers to the Pliocene; people agreed that no time paradox was possible, though they would not let operant metapsychics through and restricted fertility just in case, and they all agreed that the travellers were more or less doomed anyway.

-Some Years Later-

"I've already sleep-learned my chosen vocation, but one thing that confused me about the vocations was the option to be a Dompteur (-euse). What do you suppose that is?" Elizabeth Orme tried to stir up table conversation with this question; it was Group Green's last supper before heading into Exile and she felt they still needed to get to know each other a little more.

Aiken Drum leapt to his feet and cracked an imaginary whip, "Hah, sabertooth kittycat! Down, sirrah! So you defy the commands of your master? Roll over! Fetch! ... Not the ringmaster you fewkin' fool!"

Elizabeth burst out laughing as the rest of Group Green gawked. For a short moment she forgot her pains and felt happy as a normal specimen of female humanity, but this feeling didn't last long.

On the far side of the table Bryan Grenfell made a comment to the aged Claude beside him, "I heard that Aiken is quite a trouble maker and a non-born of Scottish ancestry."

"Indeed I am!" Replied Aiken, "I was given an option of Incarceration, Domiciliation, or Euthanasia due to all my trouble making, as you put it. I chose Exile. I'm rather proud of my exploits. At only 14 I was a stowaway aboard a ship, I sent out a little robot mouse of my own creation to steal from the richer passengers. Nobody found me for weeks."

There was silence for a while after that. Claude Majewski restarted conversation, "So, Elizabeth, returning to the subject of vocations, which one did you choose?"

"I chose to become a balloonist. I came to Exile to float around in a balloon and look over the beauty of the Pliocene. I'm hoping to forget the loss of my metapsychic powers after my accident and the beauty of the Pliocene will help. I used to be a great farsensor and redactor, but no more." At this Elizabeth turned melancholy and focused on eating.

"So we've heard Elizabeth's story, and you've heard mine," said Aiken, "So I'd rather like to know your stories. Starting with you, Bryan, after your frankly hurtful comments about me."

"I'm sorry Aiken, I didn't mean to insult you. So, to make amends, here is my story. Two months ago, I met a beautiful woman named Mercedes Lamballe, it was love at first sight, though she doesn't believe in that kind of thing. But I had to leave the next day and when I returned two months later she had gone into Exile. I had to follow her." Shortly afterwards Bryan started mumbling to himself unheard by anyone else in the room, "_There is a lady sweet and kind, was never face so pleased my mind. I did but see her passing by, but yet I love her till I die._"

"And you, Claude?" Asked Aiken again.

"Well, I'm a paleobiologist and I came here because I wanted to see the fossil zoo that is the Pliocene, but I also came to keep the lovely Amerie here company. She had treated my wife, Gen, as she died after our first rejuvenation and kept me company during those troubling times. I just had to help her in any way I could."

"You're too kind, Claude. I didn't do that much." Said Annamaria Roccaro, or Amerie as she was known to those close to her, "I suppose I should tell my story now. I feel out of touch with the current church, I prefer the idea of being a hermit, but they prefer charitable activity. I tried to apply to monasteries, but they wouldn't let me join. So I chose the one place where I could be a true hermit, that place being Exile."

"Very interesting, Amerie." Said Aiken, "I'd like to hear about Stein now"

"I was a driller, that's all you need to know." Replied Stein Oleson, who had Norse ancestry and was incredibly well built.

"Wow, that was a real eye-opener, that story. Nearly brought me to tears. Richard, if you would be so kind."

"I used to be a spacer, you know? Shipping cargo everywhere, created my own crew out of just AIs. Gave them all personalities myself. But, I had this incident involving this alien ship in distress and I lost my licence and had my ship taken from me. I was gonna chill out and have some fun on Earth, but I heard about Exile and I felt like that would be better for me. I'm gonna go down to Bordeaux and start a vineyard. Anyone want to join me?"

"I will, if you really want." Answered Stein.

"I'll be happy to have you with me." Richard responded.

"Well then, Felice. What's your story?" Aiken asked for the last time.

"I wouldn't normally tell you, but you lot might get in the way so I'll give you a warning." Felice Landry said in the most subtly threatening way she could, using her minor coercive powers to frighten the others, "I used to be a Ring-hockey player on Acadie."

"You played that ridiculous sport with the stun guns and the wild mounts? Why did your parents let you?" Amerie interrupted, shocked.

"I joined the team as a groom, but the coach quickly let me join the team. I won the team our first Pennant, but the other players were scared of me and after I injured a couple of them they kicked me out, and I came here. But, because I'm so young, they wouldn't let me through to Exile. The only way I could have got in was through the recidivist clause. So I broke the counsellor's collarbone."

Everyone gasped, even Elizabeth who hadn't been listening to the conversation before this.

"You broke his collarbone?" Claude asked, surprised at the strength of this lovely young girl. "I wouldn't have expected anything like that from you!"

"You are certainly full of surprises aren't you, Felice?" Richard said.

Without intending to Elizabeth sent a redactive probe at Felice, it failed of course because she had lost her metafunctions, but Felice turned and glared at her. Felice couldn't have felt it! And even if she had she wouldn't know Elizabeth had sent it. Elizabeth was growing increasingly worried about that young girl's powers.

Felice turned to face the others and shrugged in answer to their questions, "Let me just say I'm a lot tougher than you might think. So don't even try to mess with me!"

After this the conversation halted for a while, then continued on half-heartedly until everyone was finished. As Group Green left the dining room Felice stayed behind and smiled. As long as those idiots stayed out of her way this would certainly be fun. But she had no idea what would really happen when she journeyed into Exile.

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Thanks for reading this. Please leave a review so I can improve. Also, anyone who could give me some help with rules queries/what I can or can't do with magic items would be much appreciated. I've got some ideas for how torcs work that I need to check.

I just made a few grammatical edits after another quick proof read.


	2. Chapter Two: The Journey Into Exile

_'And so the Players gathered around the DM and the DM said unto them, "Behold all ye Players. Behold Dave, Paul, Ian, George and Bob. Behold Claire, Ellie, and Anne. For today ye shall see the true glory of the campaign." And with this the campaign began and the Players' characters journeyed through the time portal and into Exile.' The Campaign Guide, Beginnings, Chapter 2_

A small log fire had been lit in the main salon and Group Green was gathered round it, each person in their respective costumes. Richard was dressed as a Pirate, Stein as a Viking with horns that could detach from his helmet "Because Vikings never wore horns when they went into battle", Aiken was dressed in a fabulous golden outfit, Amerie was wearing a habit, and Felice wore her Ring-hockey uniform. The rest wore much more sensible items of clothing.

Bryan stood behind Counsellor Mishima as he unlocked Madame Guderian's cottage. Bryan could hardly believe he was really doing this, armed only with a steel-tipped walking stick and a hidden throwing knife. Of course he had Mercy's picture to keep him going. He was doing all this for her. Oh, what love does to a man.

They headed into the cellar. Stein had to duck so that he wouldn't damage anything in Madame Guderian's cottage. Something inside him wanted to cry out, to roar, and to vent a great gust of laughter that would terrify all around him. To unleash his barbarian spirit and see enemies cower before his mighty battle-axe and to crush foes beneath his feet as blood sprayed everywhere. Soon he would be able to. Soon.

Richard followed Stein down the stairs into the cellar. He had already figured out his plans. He would scout the local area and maybe head down to Bordeaux and find a suitable location of a base. Once he got the distillery going, with Stein and maybe Felice for security, he'd be on sound economic footing and could jockey for political influence. He smiled in anticipation.

"We will translate you in groups of four, as I have already explained," said Counsellor Mishima. "Your extra baggage will follow after five minutes. Now, if the first four will position themselves…"

Bryan, Stein, Richard and Felice crowded closely together into the latticed booth and stood motionless. Mishima threw the switch and they vanished.

Aiken leapt back. He hadn't been expecting them to disappear so suddenly. He was filled with fear. What if this was all a trap? He didn't want to die, but no one would believe he was ready to reform. He couldn't back out now. "Damn! So that's all there is too it? Not even enough power drain to dim the lights! I wonder… how long does it take to get from here to there? Or should I say from now till then?"

"It should be instantaneous," replied Mishima, "but we maintain the field for a few minutes to make sure everyone has enough time to get out of the way. Do not fear however, never once has there been an accident to time travellers."

After that, Aiken asked for a diagram and description of the device, and Mishima gave him one willingly. Aiken imagined that it was the sort of the thing many time travellers would ask for.

When Mishima turned off the field and the gazebo was empty. "Your companions are safe," he announced boldly, "You may now pass into Exile."

Amerie was the last to get into position crowded next to Aiken Drum who was nearly a head shorter than her. He was nearly as small as Felice, but he'd survive. Aiken Drum was definitely a survivor. She muttered a prayer constantly until she was interrupted as Counsellor Mishima threw the switch.

There was the pain of translation and a momentous snap, hurling them into the gray limbo. Amerie felt like screaming, in fact she thought she was but she couldn't hear herself and she felt like she was being pulled into an endless eternity of pain without hope of relief. Suddenly, reality beckoned and she felt warmth and a dazzle of green and blue. Hands were pulling her, voices urging her to come out quickly before the forcefield reversed itself. She was in Exile. It was rather scary now she thought about, but it was all worth it to get her own little patch of land and build her hermitage.

-A few minutes earlier, in Exile-

"Come along now, sport. Step down a little. Were the guardians of the time portal, we're here to help you. Don't worry. Come this way. Just relax. You're safe, you hear me? You're safe. Come along now to Castle Gateway. You can relax there. We just want to ask a few questions, that's all. Just come with us."

That was all Bryan heard as reality faded in. Someone was pulling him towards a castle. Castle Gateway? No one had mentioned a castle. Though, now he thought about it, how could anyone back in the modern day know about what was going on here. He satisfied himself with following the people before him, all the time checking his surroundings. This was France all right. It was beautiful. He was treading on small daisy like flowers, though doubtless Claude would have been able to tell him the exact kind. Claude would probably also be able to tell him the species of the butterfly flying past as well. This place was so beautiful, it reminded him of Mercy. Bryan realised the voice belonged to a skinny, deeply tanned man with greyish-blond hair and a long nose bent to one side. Around the man's neck was on ornamental greyish band.

"Is this your job to take people to this Castle Gateway?" Asked Bryan, loyally following this man who he had only just met but already felt a strong bond with.

"Most of the time, yeah. But we work in shifts, you understand?" Replied the Guard as they entered the Castle. It had no moat, but as Bryan entered the courtyard he heard howls. "Don't mind the amphicyons, they won't cause you harm unless you get too close to them. We call 'em Bear-Dogs. They eat anything that doesn't eat 'em first."

Only now Bryan noticed the proximity of these Bear-Dogs, chained to posts as they were. "What are they there for? In my opinion this entire castle seems designed to protect against something or someone."

At this the Guard looked sheepish, "Well there are always wild animals…"

Seeing the look on the Guard's face Bryan went on the offensive, "But this castle seems better suited to keeping out humans!"

"Well… there are unstable personalities who come through the time gate. It's more of a just-in-case thing, you know?"

Bryan accepted this response with a knowing smile; being an anthropologist he knew exactly how a castle would be designed to repel humans. Of course, playing D&D with a DM who takes meticulous care over every detail in his campaign helps. Bryan had played since his youth and all the way up to its collapse after 8th edition, due to the rise in popularity of virtual reality games, and D&D had become an old man's hobby. Even the old men stopped playing after a while. He still fondly remembered the days of 6th edition, or D&D After That as some players jokingly called it.

The Guard led Bryan into a reception room. It was furnished with comfortable chairs and there was a table in the centre with food and drink on it. "There's facilities through the curtained door, a chap from the interview committee with be over in a minute or so. Until then, relax and enjoy yourself." After saying this, the Guard wandered off, closing the door behind him.

Bryan gazed out the window; he could see the amphicyons prowling in the narrow space bellow and he could hear the sounds of laughter somewhere in the castle. So this was the Pliocene then. On a sudden urge Bryan tried the door it was locked. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The amphicyons were there to stop those inside from escaping. Castle Gateway was a prison! At that moment a mild-looking older man stepped through the door. He wore a blue tunic and had a greyish band round his neck like the guardians of the time portal. He sat down on a chair by the table.

"Please sit. My name is Tully. I am a member of the interview committee. You can ask all the questions you like but first I need to ask some of you." The man spoke in a nervous voice. He's afraid of me, Bryan realised. So maybe the Guard wasn't lying about unstable personalities. That would, after all, explain the lock on the door. In an attempt to calm the man, Bryan sat down and munched on a seedcake.

"So first, would you mind telling me your name and former occupation?" Tully asked.

"Bryan Grenfell, Anthropologist. I'm interested in studying your society here, though I do not hope to publish my work."

"You know Bryan, we have had very few members of your profession. You should certainly go on to the capital; you could be very useful there. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to know if you have any items of interest in your bagging."

"To put in common storage?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. It's just that some people have very interesting books with them that could benefit society as a whole. But you must keep the tools of your trade."

"Well other than basic fishing gear I brought a D&D 8th edition rulebook to pass the time, you know the game right?"

"Oh yes, of course. I played a little myself." Suddenly, Tully scrawled something on the paper on his clipboard. Bryan could have sworn it said something like: _Bryan Grenfell, Anthropologist and D&D Player, recommend immediate transferral to the capital_. But that would be impossible, who would want a D&D player in a society like this? Bryan was growing more suspicious. He decided it was his time to ask the questions.

"What is your current population? Just a professional question, I am an anthropologist after all."

"I think a reasonable estimate would be about fifty thousand human souls."

"Strange, I would have guessed more. There can't be much plague around here… Though I suppose… One last question, if you would, have you seen this woman?" With this Bryan pulled the picture of Mercy out of his coat pocket. Tully stared at the picture with widening eyes and then answered.

"She went up to the capital on account of her unusual talents. She was invited to…um…assist with the administration."

Mercy had unusual talents? Bryan had never noticed anything different about her, apart from her beauty of course.

"Another interviewer will come for you soon, and as a result I must now leave. Thank you for your time." With this Tully left the room.

As Tully left Bryan looked around for his iron-shod walking stick. It was gone. His hidden throwing knife was missing as well. So this was the Pliocene. Bryan was getting worried. But before he could do anything, the door opened and another interviewer walked in with a strange silver coronet with five points. Bryan cursed. His years of playing D&D had taught him how to recognise nearly every race in the game. If he wasn't mistaken the woman standing in front of him was an elf.


	3. Chapter Three: Castle Gateway

I've tried to include a bit more action in this chapter, and their will definitely be more action around chapter 5 or so when I start moving away from the original story and changing things up a lot more.

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_'Now Ian was more crafty than any of the other Players, and he said unto himself, "Why should I not include D&D in Bryan's back-story for it would make me seem more cool." And Ian included D&D in Bryan's back-story. But when the DM heard of this he was angry, and he said unto himself, "Why does he defy me with this back-story, but I cannot punish him for if I do I will lose my Players. No, I shall punish him in more subtle ways, and then he shall know that I am the DM."'-The Campaign Guide, Beginnings, Chapter 3_

Richard looked around as he entered the castle, the guard with him urging him up the stairs. But Richard pulled away, saying, "Be right back! Gotta take a look at this place!"

"But you can't…" Came the guard's anguished cry.

But he did. Clutching his plumed hat, Richard ran as fast as he could, clattering over the flagstones and dodging around corners. He ran into the courtyard, and then dodged into a sort of cloister. Hearing his pursuers' cries he ran a short distance then turned into a side corridor. It was a dead end. But on either side were two doors. He opened one, stepping into a black room. He stood perfectly still and listened to the sound of running feet fade away. He fumbled in his backpack for a light, but before he could the door swung open slowly. He could see the shadow of a tall woman, who, though he couldn't see her face, was clearly beautiful. For some reason he revealed himself from his hiding place and walked towards the woman. She beckoned him with open arms.

He felt something screeching and cursing and tearing at him, not at his body but at something cringing behind his eyes, worthless and deserving to be punished. Torn out, held up to ridicule, flung down and trodden on, the pain was immense. Suddenly, everything vanished in a white blaze of pain.

Richard woke.

A man in a blue tunic knelt at his feet, fumbling with his ankles. Richard was clamped into a heavy chair, unable to move. He cursed. The woman was standing in front of him, her mouth curved in a smile of contempt. Only now Richard noticed something strange about the woman, her pointed ears.

"He's ready, Lady Epone."

"Thank you, Jean-Paul. The headpiece if you please."

The man brought a simple silver coronet with five points and placed it on Richard's head.

"What is your given name?" asked Lady Epone, gazing intently at Richard.

"Go to Hell," he muttered.

Lady Epone sighed. "_Suggestion._ Tell me your name."

Richard felt compelled to say his name. The last thing he had wanted to do had become the only thing he wanted to do. "Richard Voorhees."

"_Suggestion. _Gather all the imformation you can about Finiah using only your mind."

Richard felt again compelled to do this, though he did not know why. He searched for this information but he could not even start looking. He did not know where.

"Minus six Clairsentience." Came the man's voice.

They were testing him for metapsychic abilities. He could have told them he had no metapsychic powers. But he didn't think clairsentience was a metapsychic ability.

Lady Epone held a silver dagger in her hand, "_Suggestion_. Using only your mind create a dagger exactly like this on this table."

Richard again felt a compelling urge to do this. But however hard he tried he still could not create a dagger.

"Minus three Metacreativity."

"_Suggestion_. Burn me with fire. Engulf me in flames. Build up this fire and channel it towards me."

But he was the one who burned, tears poured down from his cheeks and into his moustache. He felt all the pain, the pain that should have been felt by that cursed woman. He screamed in pain. He cried out, begging for mercy. Cursing all the while.

"Plus two point five create."

"Interesting, but not good enough." Sneered Lady Epone's voice, "_Suggestion_. Alter your psychobiology. Transform yourself into a beast, and warrior of merit unlike the scum that you are."

Richard had no idea why she kept saying _Suggestion_, but he tried none the less. He failed in her new task, however. He was still the normal him, dressed up as a pirate.

"Minus four Psychometabolism."

Epone thrust a dagger into the table. "_Suggestion_. Make this dagger rise and plunge into my heart."

Richard tried desperately but he could not. It was frankly irritating. He wanted her to die so badly, for all of them to die. They'd ruined his dream. Exile was meant to be his heaven. Now it was gone.

"Minus seven Psychoportation."

"Rest for a moment Richard, think of your companions upstairs. One by one they will come to know this room like so many others before you. And some will serve us Elves one way, and some another. But all will serve; save those blessed few who find Exile really is the gateway to paradise after all. _Suggestion_. Look into my mind. Destroy it, crush it, feed me mistruths as you try to wipe my superior intellect from existence."

He tried. He searched for her mind, trying to find it. If he could only… I hate you! I violate you! I diminish you! I call you dead! I call you rotted! I will crush your horrible mind the moment I find it! I will…

"Minus one redact."

Richard fell forward. The coronet dropped from his head.

"You've failed again, Richard." Said Epone with her malicious, taunting smile. "Inventory his possessions, Jean-Paul. Then put him with the others for the northern caravan to Finiah."

-Elsewhere in Castle Gateway-

"Drink this, Elizabeth. It will help you."

Open. Swallow. There. Good. Now sit again.

A deep and honey-rich voice spoke. "Thank you, Kosta. You may leave us now."

"Yes, Lord." Sound of door closing.

Elizabeth let herself relax and slowly opened her eyes. The man in front of her was robed in white and scarlet. Around his neck was a golden torc, like the kind the Celts used to wear. The man had blond shoulder-length hair cut in a fringe above his eyes, which were very pale blue. He had pointed ears.

Oh, God. Who are you? What is this place? I thought I was going back in time to Pliocene Earth. But this can't be…

"Oh, but it is." His voice was kind. "My name is Creyn. You are indeed in the Pliocene, and still on the planet Earth. You've been disorientated by the passage through the time-portal, perhaps more seriously than any of your companions. But that's understandable. We won't let anything happen to you. The guardians of the time-portal were able to perceive you are a most unusual traveller, which is why I am interviewing you myself…"

Elizabeth closed her eyes as the man droned on. So there really is a Land of Exile! Now I can forget what is lost. I can build a new life.

She opened her eyes. The man's smile had become ironic.

"Your life will certainly be new," he agreed, "But tell me, what is lost?"

You… can hear me.

Yes.

She leapt to her feet, drew breath and cried out in a shattering vocalization of her ecstasy. Oh, yes. Life found restored renewed. Gratitude.

Softly! She told herself. Go cautiously. Reach out at the simplest possible mode, for you are weak with rebirth.

I/we rejoice with you Elizabeth.

Creyn. You permit shallowquestion?

Shrug.

Elizabeth slipped beneath the surface of his smile, but the deeper layers were shielded by warning hardness. She snatched up the given information and got out quickly. He cannot read deeply or far. But be wary.

She spoke at last in as calm a voice as she could muster. "Creyn, you are not human and you are not an operant metapsychic. You are certainly not of one of the races capable of metability. These two things contradict my experiences. I am confused. May I probe deeper?"

"I regret I cannot permit this yet. There will be opportunity later for use to… get to know each other."

"Are there many of your people here?"

"A sufficient number."

In the split second he replied she hurled a deep-probe with all her strength right between his eyes, it bounced and shattered, she cried out and Creyn laughed.

Elizabeth. That was most impolite. And it won't work.

Shame. "It was a social error I apologize for. I don't know what came over me."

"You've been discomposed by the portal."

"It's more than that. Back on the other side I suffered a serious brain injury. I lost my metafunctions during the regeneration process. It was thought the loss was permanent. Otherwise, I would never have been allowed to cross over into exile. Nor would I have wanted to."

We are most fortunate. Welcome from allElves.

"A group of nearly one hundred arrived abruptly some twenty seven years ago. They were unable to adapt to the local conditions." Cautioncaution. Wallup.

Elizabeth nodded. "They would have been fugitive rebels. Are they all dead then? Am I the only operant in Exile?"

Perhaps not for long.

"May I look at your golden collar? Could you take it off so I can examine it?"

"It bears religious significance to us, I cannot let you remove it."

"I think I understand." She started smiling.

PROBE

Elizabeth laughed. Now you must apologise Creyn!

Unease. Regrets Elizabeth. You will take some getting used to.

She turned away, "What will become of me?"

"You will come to our capital city, Muriah. It lies in the south of this Many-Coloured Land. We'll have a wonderful welcome for you there Elizabeth."

"What about my friends? The others who came through the time-portal with me?"

"Some will be coming to the capital with you. The others have already indicated they wish to go elsewhere. They'll be happy."

Happy ruled? Unfree?

"We do rule, Elizabeth, but kindly. Don't judge until you see what we've done with this world. It was nothing, but we've transformed it into something big."

Elizabeth sat back on the bench, a puzzled expression returning to her face. "But where did you come from? I know every sentient race in our milieu, but you are not one of them. Explain."

"We believe that we were created here, in this land, by the DM. One of his commandments was not to leave this planet. No one as yet has tried. We can discuss this more later." Distraction. Creyn fingered his golden torc and at once there was a tapping on the door. A nervous little man in blue stepped through into the room and greeted Creyn.

"Elizabeth, this is Tully, one of our trusted interviewers. He's been talking to your companions."

"Have all of them recovered?" Elizabeth asked, "I'd like to see them."

"In good time, Lady," said Tully, "All of your friends are safe. Some of them will be going south with you while the others are heading to the north. Both caravans are leaving this evening.

"I want to make sure of saying goodbye to my friends going north."

"Certainly, Lady. It will be arranged." The little man put a hand to the torc around his neck. It was identical to the one worn by Creyn except for the colour, which was a darker grey.

"Then I'll just run along to the next interview, shall I? I imagine Lord Creyn has already answered all your questions about… general matters."

"Not quite all. But he will, in time."

-Outside Castle Gateway-

The man ran, clutching his bow and fixing an arrow to it. This hunting trip of his had ended in a hunt of a different kind. He swiveled, firing an arrow through the dense forest at his pursuers, before turning back round and continuing his flight. He fixed another arrow to his bow. If he could just reach the safety of the nearby lowlife camp, he might just be able to survive. It wasn't far now. Just a little more… An arrow flew past his head, embedding itself in the tree next to him. He ducked and slowed, turning to face his pursuers as he reached a small clearing. Out from the foliage came one of the Elf-Scum riding on the back of a Chaliko. The man cursed and loosed his arrow. The arrow sailed past the Elf, lost in the dense foliage. The man dropped his bow and drew a short sword from his scabbard. Swinging the sword in his hand, he leapt towards the Elf, screaming a war cry as he did so. With a practiced movement the Elf parried the attack with the tip of his lance and with a war cry of his own thrust into the man's vulnerable flesh with his lance. The thrust caught the man off guard and he fell down as another elf burst into the clearing. The man dropped his sword and instinctively raised his arm to protect himself. Just as he did so the elves turned back and fled. The man turned to face the object of the elves' fear, and as soon as he did so he tried desperately to crawl away, but he was too injured to go far. His screams mingled with his cries of pain to create an agonizing cacophony before dying into an eerie silence. The silence lasted barely a second, however, before a ferocious howl of feasting and triumph came up, fading away as the elves fled.


End file.
